


The City In FreeFall

by JayWrites101



Series: The City In FreeFall [1]
Category: Original Work, The City In FreeFall
Genre: Black Character(s), Black Male Character, Costumes, Fear of Flying, Flying, Gangs, Homelessness, Post-War, Sewing, Socialism, Superheroes, Vigilantism, War, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2020-10-18 12:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20638928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayWrites101/pseuds/JayWrites101
Summary: The City In FreeFall is about Sam Farsight, a homeless man, who secretly moonlights as an infamous vigilante known as the Wingman. Self-proclaimed as Briar City's ultimate civil servant, the Wingman is all but detested by the city he's sworn to serve. But with the surge in organized crime and talk of a new World War on the horizon, Briar City may soon need the Wingman to catch them before they fall...





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of an open beta for The City In FreeFall, an unpublished work in progress by Jay. P. Bloodworth. Read more @jaywrites101 on Tumblr.

The happiest day of my life was when I discovered my wings. But you should know up front that's such a low bar limbo players use it as a standard. Most children dream of flying over the trees and touching the soft clouds. I never did… No, I've always been scared of heights.

  
My name is Sam Farsight, and I need your help. Normally, if I need something done I'd just do it myself. That's the kind of man I am. It burns my gut to ask anyone for anything, but… well, I've got other things burning me at the moment--bigger things. You see, today is the day I'm going to die. Strangely enough, this isn't the first time I thought I was going to die. This time, I think it's gonna stick… You'll see what I mean.

  
You don't know me from Adam, but if you'll hear me out I'll explain everything in its place. I can't promise you anything as compensation--I don't have anything of value to bequeath to anyone. All I have left is my story. My legacy. It'll have to be enough.

  
You're my only hope of getting the truth to the world. You see, I have a confession. And a promise…. I won't say whose, but there are hundreds of thousands of lives that depend on the truth getting out. Maybe even yours. Because my life as Sam Farsight means nothing to nobody. I died at twenty-one, and there's nothing more to say.

  
But I have a secret. A secret I'm leaving to you, whoever you are. And the soul of a massive megalopolis hangs in the balance.

  
My name is Sam Farsight. And for the last twenty-three years, I have been living as the vigilante superhero known as the Wingman.

  
You've probably heard of _him_. I have a… _reputation_ in these parts. But you can't believe everything the papers have said about me! Not all of it was my fault. I didn't mean for those people to die--and I certainly wasn't involved with the Nuclear swap! No sir! I stayed the hell away from that fiasco.

  
I've done a lot of things--some of them I'm more proud of than others. But I've always tried to save lives. I've always tried to be better than the villains I put away… It's just… sometimes things don't always work out. I've made terrible mistakes. But what I have to tell you today should make up for all of them!

  
No doubt, by the time you read this, the rumors of my death will have spread like wildfire. They're probably true... But there's something else you should know. _I've saved the city_. And this time, it's saved for good.

  
What I'm about to tell you is the truth of my time as the city's savior. Please--Please! My final request is that you help me set the record straight. Things cannot ever be allowed to get as bad as they did. It took me dying to fix them. You'll have to finish plugging the holes yourself. I just hope… but that's getting ahead of myself.

  
As they say _Everything in its place_. It's better I start at the beginning. Before I got my wings… If I sound reluctant, it's because this wasn't one of my proudest moments.

  
###

  
The year was 2114. Old America. Jakob McCorbin was just elected President. Spring had only just faded and Summer was at our doorstep. The cars were still powered by the old steam & solar hybrid tec. Eternal Plasma Drives hadn't been invented yet. Railways had just made a big comeback for cross-country travel. I remember sitting under an advertisement for the Atlas Air&Ground commercial cross-country liner. Jerry and I would look up at that billboard and promise each other that when we got rich with our law firm, we'd book a car all the way out of Briar City, past HollyTown, past DoggWood, and all the way out of this continent!  
Those were the days…

  
Let's see… 2114… International crime was dropping all across the globe. We'd just come out of a big war against Grephsnia. Jobs were at an all-time high. The politicians called it a utopia.

  
But those of us who lived in the ghetto just thought it was another day in the history books. From our perspective, things didn't look so cheery. Jobs down there were still hard when you had them, and impossible to find when you didn't. Drug dealers still sold their product to school children. Gangs still put kids in caskets… They put a lot of kids in caskets.

  
That's why I, Sam Farsight, thought it would be a good idea to start a gang war.

  
The plan was simple. Goad the two gangs in Briar city, the SmashStones and the BloodBlades, into attacking each other and force the cops to actually do something to end them both once and for all.

  
Nothing is ever simple. I was about to find that out the hard way.

  
To find the SmashStone gang and learn their plans, I had to join them. A tricky feat since I live in BloodBlade territory. If the BloodBlades ever found out I was with SmashStone, they'd kill me. Of course, if either of them found out what my real plan was, they'd both kill me anyway.

  
I thought I was so damn _smart_ back then.

  
That was the year I turned twenty-one. It was the year I got a casket for a birthday present. Jerry, my best friend since grade school, found himself on the wrong end of a shooting.

  
That's where the Wingman found his start. Newly adulted. Chip on my shoulder. And the weight of the world in my back pocket. I wanted to do something with my life. But I decided then and there being a lawyer wasn't good enough for me. I wanted to do something "important."

  
God, I was so _stupid_. I even thought the city would erect a statue in my honor. I can't believe I was ever that dumb. The only thought on my mind was _no more kids in caskets_. I was going to end the gang wars forever.

  
That's why I was sitting on a brick wall in the rain just outside the 14th precinct. That's why when the cold wind blew across my face, I didn't back down. I was shivering and hungry and… and…

  
…

  
Lonely….

  
Yeah. That's the truth of it. I was so very lonely. I had a hole in my heart that was colder than the rain, and more painful than my stomach. That emptiness kept me moving. If I stopped… It would consume me.

  
I wasn't ever going to back down. Not until I did what I came here to do.

  
I checked my watch. 7:48 pm. He wasn't going to show tonight. I had to be back home before 9 O'clock or somebody would get suspicious. If not my family, then the gang. At the same time, sitting around in the rain waiting for a cop who might not even show wasn't the brightest idea I'd ever had. But the SmashStone goon I'd met with needed me to steal a cop car. And I had the perfect cop for the job.

  
Officer Filbert Warren.

  
A cop so dirty garbage washes _him_ off. The man's a walking personification of the seven deadly sins. But… If you looked past all that. If you ignored the stink, the stains, the empty burger wrappers he leaves instead of footprints. If you looked into his _soul_. You'd find a second, _even meaner_ cop living in his gullet that just wants the world to burn.

  
Seriously! None of the other cops trusted him either. He earned himself the nickname "the Rat" back when he first joined the force, and he's done nothing but live up to his nickname since then. Rumor has it he's on both gang's payrolls. Witnesses against the gangs have a bad habit of going missing after this guy gets a look at their file.

  
Nothing's ever proven, of course. Rumors go on to say that IA has a file on him the size of Texas, but it's all full of dead ends, missing evidence, and hearsay. Which would be surprising because Officer Warren isn't smart enough to pull any of that off.

  
For example. Just as I was giving up hope that the fat rat masquerading as a cop would show up, he did.

  
The cop car slinked up to the front of the precinct like a pissed-off cat. The headlights glaring angrily ahead.

  
"Alright Berny, take this one in," I heard him say from across the road as he rolled down his window to throw out a sandwich wrapper. Littering is against the law, but Officer Warren didn't seem to mind as he dug into his burger with gusto.

  
Berny glared at his partner in disgust but said nothing. He went around and marched some kid into the building. The girl spat at him, but the weary patrolman didn’t so much as flinch as he did his job. Apparently, he’d faced worse today.

  
Warren chuckled after they'd gone. He gulped down the rest of his burger in one bite and waddled out after them in leisure.

  
I swear, the car rose two feet when he got out of it.

  
The fat lard even left the engine running. It was like he was begging for someone to steal it, but I hesitated. Not because I was having second thoughts. No, I hesitated because I knew I'd have to take a bath in acid after I'd sat anywhere Officer Warren had been. I could only hope the rain would offer me some protection.

  
I didn't waste time driving around once I was in the car. Sure, I stamped the pedal as far down as it would go, flashed the lights and turned on the siren. I may have held my middle finger out the window like a good little delinquent, but I had a plan. The initiation required me to make some noise so people would know what I'd done, but I had to get away without getting caught.

  
I drove the car as fast as I could to the graveyard just past the hill on the edge of the city. I expected there to at least be some kind of chase, but apparently Warren's fellow cops didn't put too much priority on his misfortunes.

  
I parked the car with the headlights flooding a row of gravestones. People who'd been killed by the gangs. I hoped it might remind someone they had a duty to fulfill. I opened the door and took off, being careful not to go around the front or the back where the cameras were.

  
Step one was completed. Easy.

  
I should've known it was too easy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Farsight joins the Smashstones... and gets beat up among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of an ongoing open beta for The City in FreeFall, with publication to take place early 2020. Any feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

The next day I skipped school. What did it matter to me? I was failing Biology101 anyway. It takes money to get an education. Money my mama should've been spending on the baby. 

Instead of taking the bus uptown, I turned south and walked deeper into the Heap. That's the name we locals gave to the badlands. Cops won't protect you in the Heap. Every few years some hotshot fresh from the academy will take up a beat in the Heap to put the gangs on their toes. They never last long.

Down here your only choice is to aid the gangs or move away. Good luck trying to move away.

If you've never been to the Heap, it's not pleasant. Old brick buildings leaned precariously against newer "affordable" housing projects. Cardboard replaced every other window. The whole place was held together with rusty nails and duct tape.

But what gets me is the smell. Imagine the contents of a million porta-potties after the annual chili festival all poured into a vat of booze and spilled across every sidewalk, every door, every lamppost, and every store. It's an all-out assault on your orifices. We call it  _ the Heap's welcome _ . Newbies to the Heap never fail to toss their cookies, adding to its lustrous aroma.

Don't ask me how I could stand it. I grew up with that smell. To me, it smelled like home. 

I walked quickly through BloodBlade turf. I tried to tell myself to calm down, but my heart wouldn't listen.  _ It's alright, _ I told myself, knowing full well that talking to yourself is a sign of delusions.  _ No one knows you jumped in with the SmashStones yet. _ Everyone on the block knew me. I saw old man Yin setting up his stir-fry shop. He waved like everything was normal. Did he know I was skipping school? Or did he just forget what day of the week it was?

_ Or _ , a darker part of me asked,  _ does he _ know  _ you've joined the SmashStones and he's just trying to keep you calm so you'll walk deeper into BloodBlade territory? _

Paranoia's a bitch.

I'd walked this street a bajillion times, never caring who's turf I was in. This was the first time I'd walked down it after Jerry died. I'd never appreciated how long the road was. Or how shady the buildings were. Or how many punks hid in the old places like cockroaches.

You wouldn't notice where BloodBlade turf became SmashStone territory. It's not like there's a line drawn on the ground. But I knew when I'd crossed it. I wasn't worried so much about getting shot as I was about the mission ahead of me.

Once more I thought about my mama. She's a kind person. She'd never hurt a fly if she could help it. Even now, twenty years after I’d seen her, I have trouble remembering what she looks like. But I never forgot that smile. It was the kind of smile that cared about everyone. She would never have approved of this plan.

You're probably wondering why I didn't just pack it up and go home. So what if I stole a cop car? No one knew it was me. The gangs would assume I had cold feet--they get people like that every weekend. I could've left. I could've turned around, bought a meal off of Yin and walked into Bio101 in just enough time to be cool. I wish I could tell you that's exactly what I did.

But I didn't.

Instead, I turned off the main road and started walking in the narrow lanes between the buildings.

The idea of leaving haunted me every step I took… but I didn't… I never… 

… 

… 

A part of me knew--even then--that it was already too late for me. I felt drawn down the path. An instinct that pulled me straight into the deepest danger.

I told you before, I was afraid of heights. But that never stopped me from climbing trees. In Briar City, we keep our State-mandated parks at the top of our skyscrapers. There's not a view like it anywhere else in the world. When I was a child, we'd dare each other to climb up on the rails and hang with our toes off the edge. Parents would freak out if they caught us--that's what made it fun!

When the others dared me, I would climb past the guardrail, up onto the concrete itself. I would stand up. And look down. Every time. I'd stare down the side of the building, wind brushing around me, and I'd think about falling. My heart pumped wildly, my feet would fill with lead. My mouth dries up.

It was like my worst fear was calling for me.

It was that same instinct that called to me now. I couldn't have stopped even if I'd wanted to.

In front of me, the path opened up into a dead-end ally. At the end, a tacky pink bar sign hung over a ramshackle brick building. The lights had long ago been shattered. The Rock. It was one of those places that would've looked old even when it was new. SmashStone moving into the old karaoke bar didn't do it any favors. Vagrants slept on garbage bags stacked on the sidewalk. It baffled me to think that a trash truck could weave its way through the narrow paths that fed into this place. But then again, the trash was piled high enough, maybe they never did.

The smell of vomit was stronger here. But it wasn't the only scent in the area. The air was thick with a haze of marijuana and a twang of cocaine. The SmashStones were known for their drug addictions.

Presentation is everything. I walked through the door with little regard for who saw me enter. I stood up straight as if I had all the right in the world to be in this dump. Not that it made much of a difference. For one thing, most of the "patrons" were lying everywhere unconscious from their long night of partying.

For another thing, I'm not actually all that tall. It's hard to look imposing when you're five-foot-two.

Rough thumps and pained grunts disturbed the sound of snoring thugs. It sounded like someone was getting beat up. It didn't take a genius to figure out that it came from the back room.

I was less confident walking past the sleeping crew. Before, I'd met Terry Mac, the recruiter,  _ outside  _ The Rock. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was going deeper into the devil's den.

Hand on the door, I pushed it open with as much bluster as I could manage. This time there was at least an audience.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," the figure at the other end chided. 

It was pitch-black in the room. The dusty light behind me revealed only the back of a muscle-bound man in a green wife-beater. Terry Mac, his back turned to me. I heard a few more thuds and the clank of chains. It was a punching bag, not a body. I released a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"He-he. I heard about your little adventure last night," he said, stepping away from the bag and taking off his gloves. His hands were still wrapped in white gauze, but that didn't stop him from lighting a cigar. He puffed a rancid blast right at my face, causing me to cough. "The Rat squeaked quickly enough. You owe me a _thank you_. If I hadn't warned him about your initiation you'd be behind bars." He looked over my shoulder and seemed to rethink his statement. "Well, behind _iron_ bars," he chuckled at his own pun. 

"Thank you," I said through gritted teeth.

"He-he-he," Terry cackled. He took another long puff from his cigar--and then knocked me to the floor!

I didn't have time to react; the man lashed out faster than I could even see.  _ And I was looking right at him _ . The door flipped shut, it's tiny plastic windows not enough to pierce the darkness. I fell to the floor. Mac kicked at me. I tried to cover my gut with my arms and legs, but he knew all those tricks. His silhouette, a black form against the single ray of light from the door, leaned forward. A flurry of punches hit my sides. Something cracked. The dull red end of his cigar was the only thing that stood out.

I instinctively curled up into a ball and planted both feet as high as I could reach. I heard an "oof," but the red light didn't fall. A grip of iron clamped down on my calves and the next thing I knew I was being hurtled into the punching bag.

"Not bad, pebble," he said.

Getting back on my feet was no picnic. I felt like lead had been poured into my body. Except for my chest. The ripping, stabbing pain felt like someone had left a hot knife just under the skin. Standing up tall caused the room to sway like a boat on the water.

"Why did you come here?" he asked. All I could see of him was that damned cigar tip. It moved briefly as he flicked the ashes off the tip.

"I-I want to join you guys," I croaked out.

"I don't think so," Mac retorted, giving me a swift box on the ears. The ringing was  _ unbearable _ but as loud as it was, Mac was louder still. "Your old man had a death sentence on him, your ma refused to pay the taxes. You've always been a good little boy, toeing the line and condemning our clients. Says here you joined college." He threw a file on the floor into the square patch of light. It lay opened with my picture pinned to several pages of thick text.

A full police file with all my personal information. The Rat had a busy night.

"I want revenge!" I shouted. Spittle and blood flew out of my mouth and landed splat in the middle of the file. I surprised myself. The truth just leaped out of me without any kind of planning, but already I could see how to spin it.

"My friend, Jerry was killed last week in a BloodBlade raid. I want them to suffer!"

"So you thought you could just join up with the SmashStones and kick them all into the dust," Mac finished.

I nodded reluctantly.

"Grow up," the bruiser condemned. "You don't just decide to join up with us on a whim. That's not how it works. We only take people we can trust. For that, you've got to do us… a  _ favor _ ."

I hesitated. Mac could see it. He flicked his ashes away irritably. "What kind of favor?"

Terry Mac’s shadow loomed over me. I'd never felt so small before. My head throbbed; the pain was nearly unbearable. I thought longingly about my seat in the college. I'd never been so enthused to have the chance to fail a class again.

"It says here you live in BloodBlade turf," he said, gesturing to the blood-splattered file. "Last week they stole our biggest shipment of drugs. That's the attack that your  _ friend _ got caught up in. If you want to join us, first you have to prove your loyalty by finding that shipment--and returning alive, of course. If you do that, you'll be one of us."

I couldn't believe my luck.

I laughed. Hard. Hard enough that I spit up more blood. I howled to the empty rafters above dribbling my own blood down my chin like a madman.

Terry Mac took a step away from me.

"W-what's so funny!" He snarled, flicking his ashes away.

"You think I came here empty-handed?  _ I already know where the drugs are being held _ ." I felt strangely light-headed despite the pain. Looking back, that was probably a warning sign of something unhealthy.

Terry Mac looked lost for words. "Where--How?!?"

"My cousin, Beck. He runs with the BloodBlades. He let it slip that he's on guard duty for their drug stash. Warehouse 15 near the docks. Even better. He let slip that one of their boys got busted yesterday, meaning they don't have enough manpower to guard the shipment around the clock."

Mac was silent for a long time. When he spoke again it was with bated breath. "When?" 

I allowed myself to grin. "Tonight at nine O'clock. But you boys had better strike now. Because they move the whole shipment to a new location at ten."

I pushed a little too hard. Mac shook his head in disbelief. "That's too perfect!" He growled. He stepped in like he was going to hit me again. Instead of flinching, I stood taller; inviting him to hit me. 

He hesitated.

"You just said I couldn't do this without _conviction_," I reminded him. "Look at me now. Do I look like I'm still doing this on a whim?" I couldn't see Mac. I couldn't look into his eyes. But I could _feel_ the doubt radiating off him.

Terry Mac stepped into the square of light. He stared at the rafters in contemplation. It looked like he was having a silent conversation with himself. "Why should we trust you?" He said, at last, making eye contact.

I held his gaze, I _wanted_ him to see my conviction. It would make it all the sweeter when I burned this bar to the ground. "There's only one thing on my mind," I told him truthfully.

"And that is?"

"I want Cutter to die."

A laugh cut through the darkness. Mac withdrew against the wall. It was a deep, booming laugh that filled me with dread. There was only one person in the Heap who had a laugh like that.

A large mass dropped from the rafters. The whole building shook at his landing. Mac flipped an old iron switch and the lights flooded the room.

"I like you, kid," the mass boomed. He was a veritable wall of muscle. The veins popped out against his skin, blue on red. His square face had slash marks crisscrossing all areas in a patchwork of scars. His wide grin revealed a mouth full of chipped teeth. The only white man in the entire gang. The infamous SmashStone. 

A giant of a man, SmashStone easily stood seven feet tall. I couldn't tell you if my knees were shaking from the beating I just suffered or from this man's sheer  _ presence _ .

He put his hand on my shoulder and it was like someone dropped a sack of cement on my back. I started to fall to the floor but the behemoth's grip refused to let me collapse even as my knees gave out altogether. "It's not often I'll let in some unknown mineral off the street, but you've got _stones_ in those britches, boy."

Honestly, I'm not sure what I said in response to this. Probably something like "hub-ub blek," since I was about two-thirds passed out already.

What I  _ do  _ remember is SmashStone grabbing the cigar right out of Terry Mac's mouth and planting the burning end right in the center of my chest. To say  _ it burned  _ would be a bit of an understatement. A drill burrowed its way into my chest! Charred skin and fried hair mixed with those noxious cigar fumes and ate their way up my nose. I howled to the sky, spitting up blood that would drip down my chest and mix into the inhuman concoction.

"Welcome to the SmashStones," he said. I fell to the floor and passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, let me know what you think. You can find me on Tumber @JayWrites101, or my website also creatively named JayWrites101 only with a dot com on the end. I have lots of shorts, one-offs and other writing content across both of them. Check it out.
> 
> But what helps me more than anything is promotion. This is my second indy-published story and I can still count on one hand the number of people who's seen all my works combined. Thank God I'm poor or I'd have the resources necessary to properly promote this stuff and be a huge success... wait a minute... something about what I just said doesn't sound right...
> 
> Like me or hate me, all comments are appreciated. Thank you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam >doesn't< go to the cops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of an ongoing open Beta for The City In FreeFall, due to be published early 2020. All feedback is welcome.

When I woke up, it was thirty minutes past noon. SmashStone and his thugs were gone. And so was my wallet. Mac left a note on my face that read, _B__e at the east side of Warehouse 15 by eight-thirty or you're a dead man._ At least, I _assumed_ it was Terry Mac who wrote it since I didn't think anyone else in the entire gang was capable of writing. _Except you_, a lingering sense of guilt reminded me.

The cigar hole in my chest still burned. My chest throbbed along dully until I tried to take a breath. It caught halfway and red-hot knives cut into my esophagus. I needed to go to a hospital… But there'd be  _ no way _ a hospital would let me just walk out in a couple of hours… Besides… I… I wasn't finished being an  _ absolute  _ total dumbass yet… 

I still had to talk with the BloodBlades.

This part of the plan was  _ much _ less thought out than everything that's come before it… Somehow… 

I had to make it into BloodBlade territory, find someone who wouldn't just shoot me at the first sign of my new "tattoo," and convince them to get to Warehouse 15 at the same time as the SmashStones… 

The walk out of The Rock and back into BloodBlade turf gave me plenty of time to realize just how totally  _ whiffed _ I was. Could I have still gone to the police? Yes. Did I?

You underestimate just how damned stubborn I can be.

_ No more kids in caskets _ , I told myself.  _ No more kids in caskets _ . Every step felt like my bones were filled with lead.  _ No more kids in caskets _ . Jerry's face at the visitation, so pale and porcelain. It was profane!  _ No more kids in caskets _ . Did I have brain trauma? I passed Old Man Yin at his noodle shop. He looked at me like I was a nightmare. Dried blood running down my sides, No doubt he thought I'd been mugged…  _ No more kids in caskets, no more kids in caskets _ ! The BloodBlade hideout was plain as day. An old gym that closed down long ago. Was I really going to just walk in there? The thugs by the door just stood there in shock as I marched past them.  _ NO MORE KIDS IN CASKETS! _

"I demand to speak with Cutter!" I roared at the building. There were three fighting mats all lined up with people in and around them. My shout stopped them all in their tracks. I always did have a strong voice. Everybody in the room could see the hole in my chest, and no doubt every single one of them knew what it meant.

"The only way you're getting to see Cutter is an execution," a voiced jeered from the side.

"You're not going to live that long!" another thug exclaimed. 

Someone pinned my arms from behind, while a dude with long silver hair came at me with a knife. In case you couldn't tell, BloodBlades  _ love _ their knives.

“ _ Oh wow!” _ you might be thinking, “ _ Is this how you died the first time?” _ Nope! That's still yet to come! No, this time around I jumped back against the guy who had my arms and kicked the guy with the knife with all my might. I immediately dropped to the floor and lay there like a worm, too busy bleeding to death to really take note of the chaos that was exploding around me. Fun Fact: doing just about anything while one of your ribs is broken makes  _ everything _ 100x's worse! Fighting for your life? Don't try that at home kiddos.

The silver-haired guy pulled me up by what was left of my T-shirt and shouted… something at me. My vision was getting kinda blurry. Whatever he asked, my witty response was to bleed on him.

Oh, yeah. Who's got the makings of a vigilante superhero?  _ This guy _ .

Another guy dressed in grey sweatpants and a hoodie showed up and garbled something at Silver Hair. Next thing I knew, I was being dragged backwards through the gym while the others gawked at my broken body.

Side note, what is it with bad guys and dark rooms? Seriously! Don't they know torture rooms are  _ completely _ unreliable? At best they were just putting me in a place where no one would hear my screa--on second thought everything checks out now.

The big guy tied my arms behind a chair and bound my legs for good measure. I tried not to panic. 

Unlike the backroom at The Rock, this place had a proper ceiling over my head and charcoal grey drywall all around, so I didn't have to worry about Cutter just dropping in from above. But then again, I didn't get a good look at the room, so the iron door in front of me might not have been the only way in or out… but then  _ again, _ again, if it wasn't the only way in or out of the room, why make the door out of iron?

I overthink pointless things like that. If I spent half as much effort thinking about my plan as I did about that small room I wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place. Bio101 was looking better and better each second… 

After a short spell, the guy who stopped Silver Hair from gutting me returned to the room.

Tying me up so I couldn't move and then putting me alone in a room for a few minutes was, honestly, the best thing they could've done for me. Sure, they could've  _ also _ left a hot girl in the room to nurse my wounds and make sure I had plenty of water, but this wasn't too bad all things considered.

My head had cleared up a little. The world wasn't black and red anymore, and I was able to hear when the door opened. My body was still screaming pain signals to my brain, yes. But I wasn't about to pass out.

"You've got a lot of guts coming here alone," the man said.

"Unfortunately I seemed to have left half of them back on 21st street," I joked weakly.

A swift smack to the face showed just how much they cared for humor in the BloodBlade gang.

"Do you even know who I am?" he glowered.

Everybody and their cousin knew what Cutter and SmashStone looked like. Those two had been running wild down in the Heap for years. This guy wasn't Cutter. But he clearly had some authority to keep ol' Silver Hair from giving me a chest piercing. That could only mean the man before me was… 

"Friday."

The man shook his head. "No, be thankful I'm not him. You'd already be in the ground if I was."

"Oh."

"I'm Seth Bridgess," he said as if it meant something.

I vaguely remembered a news report about Seth Bridgess, but I couldn't pin it down… until I could.

"Wait, you're just Cutter's drug pusher--" Bridgess stepped forward, his knife appearing in his hand like magic. "I-I mean--you're his  _ drug kingpin _ . Ha-ha, yeah. Big guy, Seth Bridgess. The biggest drug dealer in the town."

Bridgess looked like I'd kicked him in the groin. Figures… 

"Then I'm sure you know why I've left you alive?" he spit. This guy clearly had something going on behind the scenes… … But… I saw an opportunity.

"It's because of the second shipment," I said as casually as I possibly could.

Seth's face was  _ priceless _ . "What second shipment?"  _ Hook, Line, and Sinker _ .

I embraced as much of my inner coward as I could. It wasn't that hard, I had a lot of terror built up throughout today. "Oh, uh. O-of course not, you're k-keeping me alive because of… w-why exactly are you keeping me alive?" 

" _ What second shipment _ ?" Bridgess asked again, putting his knife to my throat for dramatic effect. It's a common misbelief that when someone holds a knife to your throat you can feel the knife against your skin. I didn't. What I did feel was a drop of warm itchy wetness that ran down my neck.

"I have conditions."

The knife at my throat twitched. It was a small movement, but enough to draw more blood. I felt pain now. A line of warmth at my Adam's apple that burned more the longer I waited.

"I want to be the one who kills SmashStone," I growled.

As I expected, Seth pulled his knife away. Bad guys are funny like that. Beg for your life and they'll just laugh as they kill you, even if it hurts them too. Tell them you want to kill their greatest rival? They'll give you a frickin weapon and let you walk out the door with it. As far as they're concerned, it's still a death sentence. 

Bridgess peered at me suspiciously. What I said wasn't a lie  _ per se _ . He could see it. But he was sharper than the usual thug. He had to be.

"SmashStone and his damned bricks are destroying this city," I claimed wildly. "I hate them! If they weren't tearing up the city, you lot wouldn't have had to steal from them--Jerry wouldn't be dead!" 

"I get it," Bridgess snorted. "You're just a brat out on a revenge scheme. We get boys like you every other weekend."

I let go of another breath I didn't know I was holding. I tried to speak up again but Bridgess cut me off with a furious look.

"But no one. I repeat,  _ no one _ walks in here with a SmashStone burn on their chest and leaves unscratched."

"But I hav--"

"NO ONE chooses BloodBlades as a  _ second  _ choice! You're playing with fire and now you're going to get burned. Twice."

"I joined the SmashStones to find out where the second shipment was." Seeing as how Bridgess didn't just skewer me on the spot, I took that as permission to continue. "It's high-grade Rock, like the first shipment. SmashStone always keeps half of the drugs that come through."

"Because he's a  _ user _ ," Bridgess interrupted. Everyone knew SmashStone was addicted to Rock; it's what caused his body to mutate so aggressively.

"Right," I said thinking quickly, "But he had some left over from the last shipment." It was a shallow excuse, but it was one Bridgess bought. He twisted the knife in his hand anxiously. Like he wasn't sure if he wanted to stab me with it, use it to cut my bonds, or stab himself. Now that I had a train of thought, the rest of the story came easily. "He has enough left over to feed his habit this month too. But it's bad. SmashStone's pissed! He wants to retaliate for the raid even more than he wants the money from this shipment."

"That's preposterous!" Bridgess spat. I was impressed. I hadn't thought he'd know the meaning of the word, let alone correctly use it in a sentence.

"It's true! He's giving the whole shipment over to his boys tonight at ten. They'll be marching here to pull this building down brick by brick before eleven."

Bridgess punched the drywall. His hand tore right through it. "Over my dead body."

"Probably," I noted. Bridgess glared murderously. "I mean, probably--if I didn't know  _ exactly _ where the second shipment was and when it was unguarded."

"Unguarded? How? Where?"

_ Hook, line, and sinker _ , I thought again.

Out loud I said, "Warehouse 15. You guys have caused more damage to them than you might think. Half their boys are out of commission and they've been forced to only post one guard during daylight hours."

"How--"

I cut  _ him _ off for once. "I'm the guy assigned from nine to ten. The last chance for you and your crew to really put the hurt on SmashStone."

Seth Bridgess looked like he'd found religion. He made a show of distrust, much like Terry Mac before him, but in Bridgess' case, it was just the motions. He was halfway out the door before he remembered that I was still tied down in the room.

He neatly flicked his wrist and the knife was at my bonds. It was a casual move, one he obviously didn't plan on, because his hand jerked to a stop mere millimeters away from granting me my freedom. It was clear, even in the moment, that some part of him was conflicted.

This was a dangerous moment for me. Technically, Bridgess  _ had _ everything he needed for the op. I wasn't necessary. But on the other hand, if things went wrong and I wasn't alive to take the blame, Cutter might just  _ shift _ that blame.

"If I don't show up to my shift-- _ on time _ \--at nine O'clock the SmashStones will know something's up." 

Bridgess hesitated. Whatever train of thought he had was shaken. "That's not enough." His breath washed over me, stinking of cigarettes--and something else. At the time I couldn't place that something. But it was a scent I would soon become intimately familiar with. I smelled almonds on his breath.

"If I take this to Cutter he'll cut  _ me _ _ .  _ I need something damn good to tell them before they'll trust you."

Just like before, I held the goon's gaze. I thought hard about Jerry. It hurt so much to think about my friend. The only white kid in the Heap. Out of all of us, he alone had a chance to make good on his promise to escape. The rest of us would need a miracle. I was  _ looking _ right at the guy who probably lead the raid on the SmashStone drug transfer. If hate were a flame, I had enough fire to burn Bridgess alive.  _ No more kids in caskets _ .

"You have what you need," I told him. "There's only one thing on my mind.  _ I'm going to kill SmashStone _ ."

Bridgess let his knife fly. My bonds came loose and I slumped in the chair. My arms were weak. I'd already lost so much blood. My breath was ragged. My lungs couldn't have hurt more if I'd gotten a faceful of fiberglass dust.

"Thanks," I grunted. "Take this-take this information straight to Cutter. You'll need everyone. Have everyone there on the west side of the warehouse by eight-thirty. When nine o'clock rolls around, it's all yours."

Bridgess bobbed his head several times. "One more thing, kid."

I started to ask what it was, but before I'd even opened my mouth, Seth Bridgess poked his knife into the burn on my chest and twisted. For the second time that day, I screamed bloody murder.

"The pain. You take that, and you walk outta here with it. And just remember, if you back out now, there's  _ much _ worse we'll do to you before we kill you."

I don't think I answered him. He shoved me through the door where I stumbled and fell. The other members jeered and threw red Solo Orbs at me. The Orbs are just some kind of mouth-sized seaweed compound that replaced plastic cups after the Great Corporate War. The company died along with the rest of them, but their name stuck around for some reason. Anyway, the Orbs didn't hurt too bad when they hit, but they did burst open like water balloons and drench me in various sports drinks.

I made it past the goons. The daylight struck at my eyes like a lance. My eyes burned even as I blinked about a million times to try and get them to adjust.

"Good luck kid," one of the guards murmured as I passed him. I couldn't tell you who it was, I never found out. As out of it as I was, I couldn't even tell you what the guy looked like.

I'd been through hell. There was only one place I wanted to go now. Home. And fortunately for me, the place would be empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. If you want to read more content by me I recommend searching for @JayWrites101 on Tumblr.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Farsight encounters a wild DinoHyde! DinoHyde used Terrorise... It's Super Effective!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The City In FreeFall is an open Beta for a full novel slated to be released early 2020. If you're enjoying this series, please leave a comment or a Kudo!

Beaten, bruised, and broken. Oh yeah, today was going  _ exactly _ according to plan… 

I made it through the front door of our apartment and immediately stumbled towards my bed. The alarm clock next to the bed read 1:48 in bright, red numerals. I wasn't failing Math, so I did a few mental calculations. I had to be at the warehouse by 8:30, which meant I'd have to leave the house by 7:00 at the latest. That left five hours to sleep and set the third part of my plan in motion.

The agonizing pain in my lungs reminded me that five hours wasn't nearly enough time to recuperate. Stupid lungs. They should know better than that by now.

As I approached the bed, everything went dark. I could vaguely feel myself collapsing, in a numb, underwater sense. I was well past my breaking point, but this was different. My mind was still running at top speed, even though my body was failing. Last time I blacked out, it happened too quickly for me to process what was happening. This time I was aware enough to be afraid of it. 

I woke up tied to a chair. On top of our apartment. Leaning over the precipice.

I panicked! The sight of the street below filled me with adrenaline. I threw myself against the straps, completely disregarding my previous injuries. But an orange, scaled hand stopped me from leaning forward.

I thought he was a myth! But that hand was real. The sun setting behind him burned right in my eyes! He pushed my chair further and further back despite my protests. My heart was trying to beat itself out of my chest. Wind tousled my hair while I screamed. Once again, I couldn’t stop myself from looking down. The ground was so far away, the pedestrians below were like ants on a picnic table. My eyes were glued to the asphalt twenty stories straight down.

With a herculean effort, I forced myself to look back at the  _ thing _ in front of me. Burnished orange scales broke up his silhouette. Humanoid, but not human. His head--Oh God! There was nothing human about that head. Bulged over with a massive lower jaw. And at the top. Two glowing crimson eyes. It was like staring into the depths of Hell and seeing that Hell was staring back!

Movement behind him drew my attention to his tail. It twitched aggressively. "What do you know about Warehouse 15!" he growled. His voice! Even now, sitting alone in my cell, I shiver just remembering it. It was a low growl, impossibly loud! It was the voice of a dragon.

This was DinoHyde.

"Don't kill me!" I pleaded.

"Wrong answer!" he roared in return. With one hand--one--he pushed the chair all the way over the edge. I thought for sure I was about to fall. But the monstrosity still had hold of the back of the chair. Even as all four of the legs swung out into space, that grip held the chair in place. The straps cut into me. Slicing my already bruised body with every shudder.

"Y-you won't kill me--You  _ can't _ kill me! DinoHyde n-never kills people." At this point, I was pleading more to myself than to him. He pulled me up, just enough to force me closer to those wicked eyes.

"What do you think happens to those people who mysteriously disappear in this city?"

"They were killed by the gangs?"

DinoHyde didn't answer. He didn't need to. I'd heard the tales in the Heap. We all did. Stories that a wild dinosaur was cloned in a lab and exposed to human DNA. No one  _ really _ believes it. We all grew up just outside that lawless age where vigilantes took up arms to keep the peace. Most of us just assumed DinoHyde was just another vigilante dressed up in a spandex suit. 

Those scales seemed real to me. Somehow, those eyes bored themselves into my skull and pulled out my greatest fear from the deepest recesses. Tears burned their way out of my eyes. Even my mantra was forgotten.

"What do you know about Warehouse 15!" he asked again.

"I-I don't know anything about Warehouse 15," I cried, expecting to fall at any second. "It's just an abandoned Barron Corp storage site. I needed to find a place the SmashStones and the BloodBlades could go wild without getting anyone else hurt! That's it,  _ I swear _ !"

DinoHyde seemed taken aback. He blinked his eyes a couple of times, at any rate. "You're not working for Lawson?"

"Who?" The name struck a chord with me, but I couldn't place it. I certainly wasn't working for him, whoever he was.

DinoHyde seemed to sense the truth. More confirmation of his supernatural powers. "It's not important," he said. He paused for a minute, his head cocked unnaturally. 

A breeze blew around me. For a moment, I actually thought he was going to drop me. But the moment passed and DinoHyde swung me around back onto the roof. I was stuck facing away from the mutant vigilante. 

I craned my neck so hard I swear something popped, but I still didn't get a good look at him--he just stepped into my blindspot no matter what I did. "You should be in school, kid," he said. His voice was still gravely, but much less harsh. He still didn't know what to make of me.

"I'm not going to school anymore. I'm not going ever again," I returned stubbornly. God, I was such a prick.

"You don't know what you're playing at."

"How can you say that? We're on the same side!"

DinoHyde growled. "You're not on  _ anyone's  _ side, kid!" His voice returned to that deep reverberating tone that scared me so much. "You've made enemies of everyone in the city what with the stupid stunts you just pulled! Stealing a cop car, joining the SmashStones, marching right on up into the BloodBlades stronghold--it's a wonder you haven't killed yourself already!"

At the mention of my heroic deeds, my injuries started throbbing again. In addition to the busted ribs and the hole in my chest, I also had bruises on my back that stung like acid, a tender, itchy line across my throat, a cramp in my left leg, and a collection of cuts on my arms and shoulders. "I guess I just don't have the talent for dying."

DinoHyde smacked at the back of my head lightly. My vision doubled as my eyes crossed from the pain. Add one concussion. Lovely.

"Give it up, brat. You don't have what it takes to make it in this line of work."

" _ Screw you! _ " I spat indignantly. "You know, i-if you were out  _ protecting  _ people instead of throwing kids off building tops, I wouldn't have to be here, a-and my friend would still be alive!" 

You know, I didn't think I was doing anything particular by bringing the conversation around to Jerry again. It took me by surprise to realize I meant it this time. Seeing the myth right in front of me… Damn… That gave me someone to blame. Someone besides the gangs. After all the lies and half-truths… This was real. And it  _ hurt _ . Like a bitch.

I bawled for a solid minute. I've never been any good at handling grief. Even now it's easier to just escape into the past and forget the last couple of days… forget what's happening to me.

DinoHyde let me cry. He waited for me to calm down before he said, "I was sorry to hear about Jerry." That was it. No nonsense, or  _ he's in a better place now _ like all the other adults kept repeating. 

Just, sorry. 

"He was a good kid,” DinoHyde continued. “Smart. Honest. I wish I  _ could've  _ stopped what happened to him."

"THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU!" I shouted. "You're the monster vigilante! You're the one going around playing hero! Why didn't you--or any of the others--protect  _ him _ !"

I expected him to smack me over the head again, or maybe tell me off for being a brat. I would've deserved either. But instead, DinoHyde just made an odd wheezing noise that I eventually recognized as a sigh. "It happened in the daylight. I can't operate so freely during the day."

"Whatever," I huffed. I wasn't ready to forgive him so easily. "As soon as you let me go I'm going to clean up your mess for good. There won't be any more kids in caskets."

"It's not that easy."

"Well, maybe you just haven't been  _ trying _ hard enough!"

DinoHyde spun the chair around into the setting sun once more. He towered over me, those red eyes blazing. "Listen to me kid! What you're doing won't work. The gangs aren't just going to kill each other off just because Sam Farsight has a grudge against them. All you're going to do is start a war that'll burn down this whole city."

I dug my toes into my shoes and forced myself to stare anywhere but at his eyes. The building next to us had a park on its roof. Empty, of course. Most buildings locked their roof access at sunset. It was--

"Sunset…"

"What are you going on about now?" DinoHyde asked.

"It's sunset! And none of the buildings near my apartment have a park on them! Where am I? What time is it??"

DinoHyde huffed. "Relax, kid. We're near the docks, and it's only 7:30-ish."

I quickly ran some more mental calculations. "There's still time, but I've got to hurry. Are you going to let me out of this chair?"

"I will. But I won't help you. What you're doing is suicidal. Both Cutter and SmashStone will be pissed. Even I can't take them both on at once."

"That's fine," I snapped. "I didn't want your help anyway."

"This isn't a game, brat!" DinoHyde growled again. (He does that a lot.) "If you go through with this they  _ will _ kill you. And I won't be there to save you."

"Then I'll die!" There was something in the force of it that gave the vigilante pause. Conviction, plain and simple. I knew the dangers. But that wasn't going to stop me. "At least I'll die knowing it wasn't in vain. Knowing that I made a difference."

"Kid…" DinoHyde began. But he stopped. Making another one of his strange sighs, he reached behind me and unbuckled the straps that bound me. I wasn't going to stay and chat. I was already limping off to the door.

"Kid!" he tried again. "Listen to me--look, there's a better way. A proper way. Just back down from this madness and I'll--"

"I don't want your help!  _ I'm _ doing this  _ my _ way . I don't want anything to do with you!" I limped down the steps, all twenty flights of them. DinoHyde didn't follow after me. I don't know what he did after I left. I didn't care.

Was I reckless? Yes. Was I stupid? Yes. Do I regret my actions that day? Oh, most  _ definitely _ . Did I care at the time? Nope… I was convinced I had things figured out. DinoHyde was just one more test of my resolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited to finally be getting into the meat of the story! We get our first look at one of the vigilantes, and all this pressure's about to boil! Tell me below some of your thoughts, or follow me on Tumblr @JayWrites101 to dm me directly about questions or concerns.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan comes together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The City in FreeFall is in it's open beta. The author welcomes all comments, catches, and criticisms. You can expect the full novel Spring 2020.

First stop, the nearest phone booth. Dedicated land-lines really made a comeback in the public sector after computers took over all the airwaves. Best of all, they're free.

I angled my broken body into the phone booth, taking extra care to block the camera as I stepped in. I dialed 911.

"Please state the nature of your emergency," a robotic voice clicked.

"Witness to a crime," I said with as much of a falsetto as I could muster.

The robotic voice provided it's pre-recorded response. "Please give details while dispatch is notified."

I covered the receiver and coughed to clear my throat. The falsetto was hard on my voice box, especially after having my throat cut open by Bridgess. But I'd practiced the false voice for hours after the funeral. It was the only way I could fake the voice trace so it wouldn't lead the cops to my front doorstep.

"I just witnessed two very scary men enter Warehouse 15 with large guns across their backs. One of them mentioned a drug raid. I think they were gang members. One had a knife in his hand."

A few seconds after I'd stopped speaking the robotic voice spoke up again, "Thank you for your report. Your audio recording will be added to the file. You may be called to verify it before a court. Please speak your name and number now, or in case of emergency please wait on the line until an officer can be dispatched to your location."

I left the receiver on the dash and hobbled out of the booth as quickly as I could. The police were notorious for being quick to investigate a prank call, but slow to actually do something about real crime. My testimony would be enough for them to investigate Warehouse 15, but it would take them an hour to actually do something about it. With just a little luck they'd walk in right at the same time as the two gangs.

This was my master plan. No doubt I'd be arrested too, but I was prepared for that possibility. I didn't really have much of a life to leave. I'd testify as quick as I could, express every detail I witnessed and confess the actions I'd done. I'd have to go into witness protection, maybe even serve time, possibly even be killed. But both gangs would be off the streets forever. No more kids in caskets ever again.

You couldn’t get a better deal than that.

The east side of Warehouse 15 faced the ocean. Once upon a time this place was a booming center of commerce. But those days had long passed. The road was riddled with more pot holes than swiss cheese, and the wooden pier missed planks here and there in its path down to the open ocean. Old ships still docked along the rickety structure. Some even had lights on inside, but some had been dark for years.

The sun was setting over the water, turning it bright orange with a few shadows where the waves rippled. If it had been any other day I would've stopped to watch the sun set. Today, I hobbled past it.

I had a problem. I had to keep the BloodBlades and the SmashStones away from one another until the police could arrive. The problem was I had no idea how. If I'm being honest, I never expected to get this far in the plan.

The SmashStones were holed up behind some crates on the pier. They looked foaming at the mouth. Terry Mac noticed me immediately and gave me a glare that could halt a rampaging elephant.

"You better not have lied to us!" he hissed as soon as I got close enough.

"What's the problem?" I asked, trying so very hard to play it cool.

"The problem!" he started, the others hushed him anxiously giving the warehouse a suspicious glance. Terry Mac caught himself and lowered his voice. "The problem is this place is empty. No guards have walked by here at all the whole day. Lights are off, and the Rat tells us this place is owned by Barron Corp."

"This place is owned by Barron Corp," I said quickly. The other gangsters looked worried. One made the sign of the cross and muttered something under his breath. Only Terry Mac looked unphased by this.

"I'm surprised they have the stones," he glowered angrily. "They know the rumors about DinoHyde as well as anyone."

"Wait, what's this about DinoHyde?" I asked. "I--uh--I thought he was a myth."

One of the goons spoke up, "A Barron Corp scientist created him in a lab accident fifteen years ago. Laugh all you want, kid, but _something_ beats the shit out of anyone who steps foot on Barron Corp property without permission."

"But this place has been abandoned for ages." Terry Mac reasoned. "The BloodBlades musta' figured out he don't stop here anymore. Otherwise they wouldn't have stashed our rock here."

"Exactly!" I said, hopping on the convenient excuse. "As for the guard, he's inside. I--uh--walked by the west side before coming around here. Took a peek through the window--"

"He didn't see you did he?" Terry Mac cut in.

"No! No. He was faced this way muttering something about calling in his shift after he left." I'd witnessed no such thing, of course. But the lies came easily enough now that I’d had practice. Anything that kept the SmashStones on this side of the warehouse saved my bacon. I had to time this exactly right. But without knowing when or where the cops would show up, it was a bit like walking down in the subway rails without a watch. If you've never tried it before: _don't!!_

I couldn't put my finger on it, but something was nagging me about the SmashStone gang. No time to think about it, I continued with my story. "According to my cousin, this guy's set to leave at nine o'clock on the dot. But his replacement can't be spared until ten. If we time this right we'll just walk in there, grab the rock and be out before anyone from the BloodBlades even knows something's up."

Terry Mac was impressed. "Good work, slab. You show initiative, that's something a lot of our boys could learn from you." He made a pointed look to one of the thugs in the back. A grungy man who wore layers of rags and had shoes that were falling apart. He didn't answer. Instead he averted his eyes and muttered something too low to catch.

That's when it hit me. Our crew was only about twelve people, counting me. "Where are all the others? Why isn't SmashStone here?" I asked Mac.

"Kid, do you honestly think SmashStone himself bothers with something as trivial as stealing from the BloodBlades? No! He's back at The Rock Bar getting high and tearing up."

"But… what if something goes horribly, horribly wrong?"

Terry Mac drew a long puff on his cigar before answering, spreading it's noxious fumes everywhere. "If something goes wrong here, I get to hit you in the face and then SmashStone will smash you, rip you into pieces, and bury the pieces under enough concrete that no one will ever find the body."

I couldn't answer. A lump grew in my throat, helped along by the cigar fumes. Terry Mac tossed that threat out as casually as if he was talking about a trip to the beach. After all the abuse my body had gone through today, I believed him. SmashStone wasn't here. One way or another, my plan to stop the gangs had already failed… _DinoHyde was right._

Terry Mac continued. "We've got hundreds an' hundreds of stones all throughout the city. Addicts, and dealers alike. We have kids in the schools, cops on the force, ordinary soccer moms in the suburbs--the works. SmashStone oversees all of that. He deals with the money, he makes the contacts, he orders us to tear things up. We obey and have a shit-ton of fun in the process."

His crew gave a hushed cheer, slugging each other on the arms.

"I'll bet SmashStone even has some stones running wild right now to keep the BloodBlades distracted."

If he had hit me in my chest again it wouldn't have hurt like his words did. Everything I did, every lie I'd said… It was for nothing--nothing! No doubt, the same could be said for the BloodBlades. I never even saw Cutter face-to-face. Or Friday, his right hand. Every break, stab, burn, bruise, and cut on my body throbbed. Reminding me of everything I went through to get here… Reminding me there was no way out. I was going to die. But I wasn't going to end the gangs. At best, I was going to lock up a few drug dealers.

_It's not fair!_

Terry Mac and the others could see my expression. Luckily for me he had a different interpretation of what was going on in my head. "Look kid, you did good here. Keep this up and Cutter's going to feel the hurt. And when he does, we're going to stab him with his own God-damned knife."

The others let out a muted cheer, keeping one eye on the warehouse. But me? I snapped. I did not come all this way so a drug dealer could lift my broken spirits! He deserved to die! They all deserved to die!! Forget the police, forget DinoHyde, forget Sam F-ing Farsight and his clever plans! They were all going to die. Tonight. The law be damned.

_No more kids in caskets._

"That's the spirit kid," Terry Mac grinned, taking another long draw on his cigar. _The smug bastard_.

Already an idea was forming about how I was going to get the job done. I just had to wing it a little while longer.

"Anyone got the time?" I asked.

Terry checked his watch. "It's time," he grunted.

"I'll go first," I volunteered quickly. "Check and make sure that the guard has actually left."

"Take Martin with you," he said pointing out the man in rags.

"Why me, boss?" the man complained.

"Because I'll smack you one if you don't, you lazy good-for-nothing."

I interrupted them, "If all's clear I'll send him back to let you know. Wait ten minutes, and then we'll--uh--tear this building a new one."

"Why the wait?" Martin asked. "You're not planning on stealing a share, are ya?"

"No! I just want to check something out." Everyone was glaring at me suspiciously so I added, "You're holding me responsible for this. I… I'm worried this might be a trap. That's all."

"You'd better pray it's not," Terry Mac confirmed, flicking his ashes at my face. "Here," he pulled out a gun and put it in my hands. "If this is a trap, you've got ten minutes to make it right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave a kudo if you enjoyed the work. If you enjoy this kind of content, you can support me by searching JayWrites101 on Tumblr or by purchasing my published story, A Treasure Made of Death on Amazon. (Available in both paperback AND E-book!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Farsight plays the two gangs against each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an open Beta for The City In FreeFall, a story that was slated to release earlier this year but got held up due to Corona complications and a heavy case of Writers Block. All comments are welcome, and if you can share the love, you'll make this author a happy writer.

I swear the gun weighed five pounds. I'd never held a gun before, but I didn't think they could be that heavy. Me and Martin slinked around the warehouse cautiously. I tried to mimic Martin's form, low to the ground and almost pressed against the building. His rags gave him an advantage. They were all dark textured; he nearly vanished in the shadows. I couldn't move like that. My every step echoed in his silence. Even my breath resounded no matter how softly I tried to breathe.

Of course, there was no reason to be silent. The BloodBlades should be holed up somewhere on the side facing the Heap. I doubted anyone would attack us. The BloodBlades were wanting to make this as stealthy as possible. Meanwhile, Martin seemed to be the only SmashStone capable of stealth. I had the pieces, even back then. If I had time to think I might've figured out what was about to happen. But I didn't. And I didn't. 

Martin signaled for me to stop. He held his gun straight up, clasped in both hands like they do in all the movies. I tried to mimic it, but my hands shook. Martin cocked his head unnaturally. His face was so wrapped up the movement was the only way I could tell he was looking at me questioningly. "Have you ever shot a gun before?" he asked

"O-of course I have!" I lied indignantly.

Martin looked at me in silence. I couldn't meet his gaze. "Your safety is still on," he said in a tone more sad than angry. "You're left-handed; grip your trigger hand  _ hard _ with your right. It's your base. Keep your left hand relaxed except for the trigger finger. Keep the gun pointed away from you and…" He turned away. He slumped against the wall with a muted thump and looked up to the darkening sky.

"And?" I prompted, adjusting my grip and trying desperately not to forget the tips Martin just spouted off.

"Always aim at center mass," He said reluctantly, pointing at his chest in demonstration.

"I-I got it."

"You can still leave, you know?"

That took me by surprise. Martin was a SmashStone member. A junky, a thug. Was he testing me? I didn't know.

"I can't leave--I won't."

"No… I didn't think you would." I tried to read Martin's expression. Was it me, or did he sound… sad? He didn't sound like the other thugs in the gang. I started to question him, but the words choked in my throat. Martin turned away and gestured for me to follow. "Come on, let's finish this and go home."

I had no choice but to follow.

###

I found the BloodBlades almost immediately. Martin, so focused on the warehouse, didn't look around too much. I was the only one to see Bridgess poke his head out of another abandoned building on the other side of the warehouse. He had a hard, pinched look about him. He caught my eye seriously and gave a pointed glare before stepping back into the shadows.

"It's all clear," Martin said.

"What did you expect?"

He pointed at the gun in my still shaking hands. "What did  _ you _ expect?"

I couldn't answer him. I couldn't even try to look him in the eye. Not that it would've done me any good to try. I'd never seen anyone wrapped in rags like a leper in all those documentaries. If the situation was different, I might've asked him about it. Looking back, I should've. Things would've turned out…  _ different _ .

At the time, I was more focused on trying to get him back to the SmashStones so I could continue with my plan… I… 

It was easier not to think about him as a person. I knew if I did that, it would just make things harder.

Before I continue, I want to clear up one thing. I don't think, having had twenty years to look back on this incident, that I  _ could've _ killed anyone going into that warehouse. Let alone  _ would've _ . As you'll see, I never got the chance to test that resolve…. Considering how the rest of my life turned out, I think it's safe to say I wouldn't have been able to commit murder. But when you're young, you don't know what you don't know, and you think what you  _ do _ know is all there is….

You-- _ I  _ was wrong. Obviously. But if you really want in my headspace, it was a really simple place. I was hurting, and I'd dived so far into this mess that I couldn't see any other way out of it.

So when Martin asked what I was expecting, that stung a bit. Martin seemed like a nice enough guy for a drug-addicted, gun-toting, gangster. He, at least, had a calming effect on me. Maybe it was just because he was the only person I'd met all day that hadn't tried to kill me… but I was planning to kill him… Those kinds of thoughts really mess with your head. And you don't even want to  _ know _ what it does to your heart.

Martin apparently got bored of waiting for me to answer. Or maybe he just thought he'd scored a point on my ego, I really don't know. Either way, he holstered his gun and started back the way we came.

_ Ten minutes _ before all Hell broke loose. And only God knew how long it would take for the police to arrive.

Fun.

Bridgess was waiting for me with only ten men. Because  _ of course, _ he was only waiting with ten men.  _ Drug raid, shrug maid. _ Visually, the BloodBlades weren't that much different from the SmashStones. Instead of a raggedy bunch of black and Hispanic dudes in wife beaters, they were a raggedy bunch of white dudes in wife beaters. It’s like every thug in the city was allergic to proper clothes. I will say that, while the SmashStones usually had pink or orange boxers showing out of their baggy pants, the BloodBlades seemed to prefer blue and green. Truly, this was valuable information worth nearly dying for.

I put on my nicest, calmest smile as I approached Bridgess. The second I walked through the door, all eyes jumped on me. No one was sitting, but I had the feeling if they had, they would've jumped up as I approached Bridgess. It was impossible to keep a carefree smile while ten white guys glare bloody murder at you, so I stopped trying.

Seth Bridgess himself couldn't be read. His eyes seemed to stare right through me as he spoke up. "Was that the other guard."

"Yep. He's gone now."

Bridgess nodded. His mouth was drawn thin. Like  _ pencil-line _ thin. I cocked my head reflexively, trying to figure out what was up with him when he pulled out a gun.

All around the room, white guys started pulling out guns and aiming them right at my face.

"Whoa, whoa! Guys! We're all friends here," I tried.

Bridgess shook his head slowly. "Warehouse 15 is  _ Barron Corp _ property. It's DynoHyde's territory. You, our little turncoat friend, are our bargaining chip. That mutant freak won't dare attack us while we have a hostage. So you're going to walk us in there. Nice and slow. If you run--if I think for even a  _ second _ that you're about to betray us…" He cocked his gun dramatically. That action in itself made it all pretty clear to me. Bridgess took one look at my face and broke out in a manic laugh. "You know, I did warn you. I told you, no one  _ ever _ chooses us BloodBlade's second…  _ and lives to tell about it _ ."

"You should've stayed in your stinking bar," one of the guys sneered.

"No, even better," another called out. "He should've stayed in Africa with his kin!" There was hooting from all sides of the room.

One of the ones in the back shouted out, "As if we'd ever trust a (guess which colorful and imaginative N-word they used here!) like  _ you _ !"

I started for the bastard. I really did! If I had my way I woulda clocked him back to the 1900s… But, unfortunately… here in the 2110s, the other BloodBlades cocked their guns eagerly. Bridgess alone didn't seem to care one way or another what happened to me. His gaze was focused off in the distance.

I tried to appeal to him. "So you're all just a bunch of racists, huh? I thought you lot didn't give a shit about that." Okay, so it wasn't one of my better appeals. But in fairness, I was pissed.

"Oh, most of us don't," Seth shrugged, still looking off into outer space. "But, you know, all of these guys are volunteers."

"Still, isn't it a bit…  _ on the nose _ . I mean you guys still have your pride to--"

He cut me off by hitting me on  _ my _ nose. My eyes teared up and a fresh wave of blood ran down my face. "Move it!" Bridgess said, aggressively pushing me back the way I came. "We've got a shipment to rob."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, all comments are welcome. I hope you've enjoyed reading my superhero origin story so far. The best parts are still yet to come!


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